


and now you know

by Anonymous



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-12
Updated: 2011-07-12
Packaged: 2019-10-27 23:21:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17776169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: A leaked D/s sex tape of Arthur and Eames turns up in Dom's email inbox.





	and now you know

**Author's Note:**

> Re-posting some old deleted works.
> 
> For the [kink meme prompt](https://inception-kink.livejournal.com/19177.html?thread=44126953#t44126953): "They were covertly videotaped having marathon sex. An hour long sex-tape is released by one of their enemies, revealing Arthur as a sub with a bondage kink. Do their associates watch it? Of course they do! They just pretend like they haven't."
> 
> I owe a huge debt to the amazingly talented [Syzygysm](https://archiveofourown.org/users/syzygysm) for taking the time to go through this and helping me kick it into shape. It would have been much worse without her.

Dom makes it five minutes into the video before he realizes who it is on the screen. This is probably because the man is kneeling on the bed completely naked, with his head bowed low to his chest. Then, the camera picks up the noise of a door opening and Arthur looks up. Horrified, Dom closes the window as soon as he realizes that  _it’s Arthur_.

He thinks about the text from Arthur that was waiting for him on his phone when he woke up, 'I already know. Working on it.' Having no clue what the message was talking about, Dom went about his morning rituals: wrestling the kids out of bed, getting them fed, shoving them—lovingly—out the door into Marie’s hands so she can take them to school, basic hygiene, and then sitting down to check his email. Today, there was only one new item in his inbox with the subject line ‘I think you should see this’ and a link to the video stream.

"Arthur's taking care of it," he assures himself, because the security breach of  _this_  getting out—however it came to exist and whatever else it contains—is surely the priority here.

Dom tries to dismiss it from his mind. Arthur will deal with it and it’s none of his business.

So he cleans the house—well, he wipes toast crumbs from the kitchen counter and stares at the dishes in the sink. He works a little on the freelance architecture project he got at Miles’ recommendation.

Only an hour has passed when he looks at the clock.

"Maybe I need to watch it," he mutters, biting his lip. Curiosity has always been one of his character faults, he can acknowledge that. Hell, if someone had sent a highly personal video of  _him_  to Arthur, he's sure that Arthur himself would have no problem whatsoever bleeding it for whatever 'informational purposes' he could.

Maybe he could watch it once, delete the email, and move on.

With a determined nod, he settles back into his desk chair and opens the browser. This time, he is prepared for the movie that fills his screen.

The picture is dim, obviously shot with amateur equipment and a tripod.

 _Shot for personal use?_  Dom wonders.

Arthur is kneeling faced towards the camera, but with his head bent down his face is entirely covered by shadow until the moment he looks up at the camera—which is probably placed directly in front of the door.

This is the point he stopped at earlier. Already Dom feels the tension building in his jaw and shoulders, not knowing what to expect.

From behind the camera, a low voice laughs and says, "Ah, trying to be the obedient boy for the camera today?"

 _Eames._  The realization hits him even before he moves around the camera into view.

He doesn’t say anything else, but it is indeed Eames moving towards Arthur with the same expression he might use for inspecting a painting or car he's considering buying. He runs the back of his hand along Arthur's cheek, and Arthur leans into it like a cat.

The silence of the film, the intimacy of the touch, the shock of Eames being in this video is too much. Dom closes the browser again.

But it’s a hopeless act. This time he doesn't even last the hour before he's back at the computer.

Dom thinks it gets easier to watch every time. There’s probably something wrong in how seeing Arthur naked and expectant on a bed doesn’t seem so strange now. Actually, it's artistic how the shadows settle across his lean form. The curve of Arthur’s wrists between his legs, hands sitting near his knees, the tilt of his neck.

When he hears Eames speak this time, the shock is dulled. Although, he still doesn’t understand why  _Eames_  of all people is the one Arthur allows— _trusts_ —to see him like this.

"Ah, trying to be the obedient boy for the camera today?" This is the point where Dom stopped last time. He holds his breath over the long pause, Eames standing with his hand held to Arthur's face. Arthur doesn't say anything and Eames doesn't either and neither moves. If Dom didn’t know better, he would think the video had been paused or frozen, but the tiny bar crawls forward, ticking off the seconds heavily. Finally, Eames laughs again, fondly. "Indeed you are, aren't you?"

He presses a kiss to Arthur's head and Dom grits his teeth at the patronization of the gesture.

"What do we need tonight, Arthur, hmm?" Eames moves back in order to open a drawer barely on screen. Arthur doesn’t move, but the camera can catch the flicker of his eyes following Eames. "Well, these, of course." Gently, Eames sets several objects on the nightstand beside the bed—one, two, three, four items, although Dom can't quite make out what they are. "What else?" But he’s talking to himself more than Arthur—the camera barely even picks the question up at all. With a fair amount of finality, he pulls out some rope-like objects—sort of similar to the straps Dom had to use rock-climbing with Mal the one time she managed to talk him into it—a strip of cloth and a circular piece of leather.

 _A collar._  Suddenly, Dom's mouth is dry as cotton.

"Hmm." The collar, which looks like black leather with a strip of metal stamped over it, is between Eames' hands. His thumb runs over it almost lovingly. "You  _do_  want the collar tonight?"

Arthur, who has been motionless all this while, leans towards Eames—exposing the long line of his torso to the camera—and extends his neck, slightly tilted to the side. It's perfect submission and acceptance without a word. Dom is shocked that Arthur, who he has seen relentlessly thorough with facts and quicker than anyone he knows with a gun, has it in him to allow  _this_ , whatever it means, from Eames.

Eames cups the back of Arthur's neck in one hand, the collar in the other. His thumb is now stroking along the skin of Arthur's neck, slow and methodical, "If only you could wear my collar all the time, darling." He opens it, wraps it around Arthur's neck, positioned so that the D-ring is dead center, and steps back to admire. "You’re perfect like this. Arms next."

He moves off to the nightstand while Arthur positions himself, arms outstretched. Eames is taking his time about it, but Arthur doesn't move or twitch as he holds his hands out without complaint or noise. Eames isn’t even looking at him as he inspects the four items.

After an eternity, or so it seems to Dom, Eames brings two to Arthur. Without the same level of ceremony or reverence he reserved for the collar, he attaches these around Arthur's wrists.

If possible, Arthur sitting with these stripes of black across his skin and Eames fully dressed beside him appears more obscene than Arthur sitting naked for the camera alone, although Dom can't think of how that makes any sense.

"Legs," Eames commands. Arthur moves to obey, again silently, moving to all fours with a graceful shift, head tucked low, and offering one leg—which Eames binds—then the other.

"On your back."

 _He doesn't even sound interested at all,_  Dom fumes internally. He may not personally understand the dynamics of this situation, but surely Arthur could choose from any number of people more reliable than Eames, as good a forger and thief as he may be.

Arthur's on his back, arms offered up, legs spread wide. The camera greedily laps up his form, from the arch of his foot to the inside of his knee to his cock jutting out half-erect—even though nothing  _sexual_  has happened as far as Dom can see—the thin tuck of his waist, and the length of his arms.

Eames looks pleasantly surprised at Arthur's complete compliance. "Good thing we're taping this. I'll title it 'That One Time Arthur Submits Without a Struggle,' I think. Has a ring to it, don't you think? Of course, you know I like it when you fight a bit. I love reminding you that you need to come to me for this. Need me to take you over, hold you down, strip away all that control you cling to the rest of the time." He presses mostly chaste kiss to Arthur’s bare shoulder, "But you’re perfect like this, too: easy, compliant, ready for me."

He smooths a possessive hand down Arthur's stomach; Dom feels the ghost of a palm on his own skin and jumps in his seat.

"But you are being a bit presumptive. Just because the toys are out doesn't mean that we'll be playing with them, as you well know. Nor does it mean that I won't go rummaging for something else." His fingers encase Arthur's cock, holding, from what Dom can see with Eames' body slightly obstructing the view. "Lucky for you, I'm in a good mood. It's been a good day and you're being so good, I want you spread out for me—helpless."

Reaching out, he picks up the long strips of nylon webbing—Dom is now sure they’re the same thing they used climbing—and takes both of Arthur's wrists in one hand.

Dom can see that there are D-rings attached to these, too, glinting even in the low light.

 _I'm never going to be able to remember that trip with Mal the same way again,_  he thinks with an edge of hysteria. His fingers twitch of their own volition towards the mouse, almost closing the window again, but he stops himself. He wouldn't last anyway, because he  _wants to know what this is_  and he sure as hell isn't going to watch it with Phil and James underfoot.

"You know the rules, darling, no speaking until I say so unless it's to safeword, same one as always."

Dom hadn't noticed Eames move to the foot of the bed. He's completely in the way of the camera now, but on either side of him Dom can see Arthur's feet with one of Eames' hands splayed across the arch of both. "These, too, I think," he murmurs, using two more straps to attach the cuffs at each ankle to the bed frame. Eames moves off, seemingly to admire his handiwork, and Dom can see that Arthur's arms are stretched together over his head, bound above him by the cuffs at his wrists while his legs are forced into a spread-eagle. Arthur must have a little movement available to him, because he's crooking his knees ever so slightly.

He's got quite the hard-on now, which Dom's errant eyes latch onto without his consent and won't seem to leave. He's never had a single sexual thought about Arthur or  _any_ man, but there's something visceral that compels him in this obviously highly personal video.

Eames sits on the edge of the bed now, sweeping his hands along Arthur's body. The movements are somewhere between sexual and a massage.

"I don't need to remind you, but I will: you're mine. I'm the only person in the world allowed to touch you, see you this way. My collar around your beautiful neck—even when it's not there and you have a tie on instead, acting the proper point man. Nobody would ever guess how you come undone with a touch of my hands. My voice."

It's probably true, everything he says, because Arthur is writhing like the words he's not allowed to say are twisting through him.

Dom looks at the time left on the video— _Christ_ , they're only thirty minutes in, half the length is left to run.

He adjusts himself in his seat, trying to find the least uncomfortable position.

The ringing of the phone nearly sends his heart straight out of his chest. Dom grabs it, throwing himself back from the computer in a desperate scramble, even though the video is still running and he’s alone in the room. He barely remembers to hit 'mute' before answering hoarsely, "Cobb."

"Cobb, it's Arthur."

It’s Arthur’s voice, calm over the phone, but on the silent screen Arthur is still arching under Eames' hands. Eames' lips are moving silently, moving closer to skim across the skin of Arthur's chest, abdomen, lower—

"Cobb?"

"Yeah, sorry, I was—getting out of the shower."  _Christ, best extractor in the world and that’s the best I come up with?_

"Right. I was calling about an email you received."

Dom's throat nearly locks, "Yeah. Harris sent it."

"I'm going to be over in four hours. I need to look at it. Also, I think the guys who released the video are in the area, so if I can work out of your house for a day or two, that would be great." It's not a question, but there's a debt understood between them after Dom failed to share relevant information regarding the sedative for the Fischer job. So he says, voice still a little too reminiscent of his long-past puberty days, "Yeah, that's fine." After a beat, he adds sincerely, "You okay?"

On the screen, Arthur's mouth is open wordlessly—Dom knows this even with the mute still on, because Eames looks entirely pleased, Arthur's cock in his mouth.

"Yeah, I'm good, considering. Eames is actually more of a mess." Arthur huffs a breath, "I'm bringing him, too, by the way. We'll be there this afternoon."

"Okay, Arthur. Yeah. Um, anything I can do?"

On the screen, Eames is drawing back, Arthur thrashing and bucking up into the air a moment before falling to the bed, because struggling is useless with both his arms and legs bound.

“Not right now. See you soon, Dom.”

It takes a moment for Dom to remember to set the phone aside and turn up the volume.

Eames may well have kept up a constant stream of talk, because his voice is the first thing that comes back into existence once he flicks the sound back on: "—Arthur, gorgeous like that, vulnerable, exposed, just for me. And you need it, don't you. Need me to tell you how to behave yourself—how to get off. Tell you that you're  _allowed_."

Eames settles himself between Arthur's thighs, hands large along the outside of them. Dom swallows hard. Eames slides his hands back, flips the webbing or the D-ring a certain way, and Arthur's legs fall wider, still cuffed but free of being tied. He reaches over Arthur for the strip of cloth, which must be—

_A blindfold._

"This goes on, Arthur, and you're allowed to talk as much as you like, to say whatever you want. You are, however, still required to hold your legs like so." He positions Arthur's legs spread wide and bent at the knee. Then he leans over Arthur, ass the focal point of the lens for a moment so clearly that Dom can make out the outline of a wallet in Eames' right pocket.

When Eames leans back again, Arthur's eyes are covered with the cloth, which is a dark color—possibly black. He adjusts the material until it’s sitting as he wants it and presses a fierce kiss to Arthur’s mouth.

 _Eames must like the contrast,_  but it's the sort of thought that one wants to take back. But one can't unthink a thought, because they're insidious like that. If Dom has dreams that night about Arthur's pale skin, this video is to blame. Harris is to blame. Arthur and Eames are to blame.

Dom shifts uncomfortably.

Blind but no longer mute, Arthur speaks, sounding broken: "God, please."

Eames isn't even doing anything, wrapping a thick arm under Arthur's hips and dipping his head low. Nipping at the skin of a thigh followed by the hip bone.

Dom expects him to go back to blowing Arthur, but instead Eames brings Arthur's hips up further so his ass is raised and Eames can lick into— _Oh_. Dom has had women finger him there, but a tongue isn't anything he's imagined before. He would never have guessed anyone would  _want_  to do that, even if it had occurred to him.

But Eames seems to be enjoying himself, licking into Arthur sloppily and rumbling under Arthur's fucking  _wails_. Dom tries to imagine the feel of it, a slick tongue there, lapping relentlessly. If he’s getting hard, it's only to be expected when thinking about sex this long and is only peripherally related to watching Arthur  _squirm_  to meet Eames' mouth.

"More, please," Arthur says. Then adds more desperately, "I'll beg. Fuck, I'll beg if you want. Anything you want." Eames growls something affirmative, never breaking away, and Arthur makes good on the promise, "Please, oh, I need it, please. I need you. Never needed anything else as much.  _Fuck_ , I'd do anything for this, for you. Please, please,  _please_ —" Trails off into incoherence, scattered throughout with ‘fuck’ and ‘please.’ Finally, he punctuates the pleas with a loud “sir,” like he was building up to it all along.

Perhaps that’s what Eames was waiting for, because he releases Arthur, letting him fall back to the sheets, a gasping mess, body limp in his cuffs, but cock still hard.

Dom aches in sympathy for him being so strung out.

Eames’ hands position Arthur how he wants him—pushes one leg all the way against Arthur’s chest and the other pulled up onto his shoulder so he can press forward into the space between his thighs.

"Going to have you now. Going to fuck you hard." He's unsnapping the front of his jeans, pulling himself out, from the motion of his arm, but Dom can't see for sure because Eames' back is to the camera. "Come in you, fill you up. If you're a very good boy, maybe I'll let you come after, too."

"Please, yes. Yes," Arthur moans, eyes blind, but face tilted towards Eames like he can see him anyway.

Eames scissors two fingers into Arthur roughly, testing rather than doing any actual preparation. "You're wet and sloppy for it. Bet I can sink into you easy as anything, Arthur. Christ, you were made for this."

Arthur mutters something too low for the camera to pick up.

Eames groans. His next words have the sharpness of an order: "Say that again, for posterity's sake. I want this on film."

Arthur bites his lip, trying to force back the words even though he's allowed to speak. Eames hitches Arthur's hips up to press against his own, "Say it, Arthur, or I'll untie you right here and leave you hanging. I'm in no mood for disobedience now."

"I  _said_  I'm  _yours_ , made for you—" Eames thrusts in at that, no condom and all in one stroke, seizing a throttled ‘ _Eames_ ’ from Arthur's mouth. He gasps, "Fuck, I said that I love you."

Dom turns off the video. And leaves it off.

 

* * *

When Arthur turns up at his doorstep, he looks the same as he always has: well-dressed, well-groomed, completely competent. "Eames'll be here in a minute." Arthur offers a half-shrug, "He's in a mood, so—"

Appearing as if summoned, Eames walks up, glowering openly. He passes through the door with only a grunted 'hello' in Dom's direction.

"Told you,” Arthur says, but there’s a humor underlying the words.

Dom settles them at the table, brings drinks, and generally feels like a voyeur watching them exchange glances—Arthur's exasperated and amused, Eames' dark and irritable.

He's making small talk with Arthur, discussing how to work out of a house with the added obstacle of small children present and trying his best to not talk about anything related to the entire mess, which is  _impossible_ , when Eames cuts in: “So you watched it, then?”

Dom chokes on his coffee.

Arthur narrows his eyes, "I said not to ask."

Eames gestures vaguely in a 'what can you do' sort of manner. He says, eyes locked on Dom, "So?"

"Yes,  _but_ ," Dom clears his throat, "not all of it. I wasn't sure what it was at first."

"Right," Eames’ scowl deepens, hands resting in fists on the tabletop, clenching and unclenching alongside his untouched coffee.

Arthur sighs and quietly shifts his chair closer to Eames'. Without seeming to think about it, Eames leans into Arthur, drapes an arm across the back of his chair and places a hand along Arthur's shirt collar stroking absently with his thumb.

The motion shifts Arthur’s shirt enough so that Dom can see a hint of black leather. Instantly, he  _knows_  it’s the same collar from the video. He can't tear his eyes away from it.

Arthur notices him looking.

"I didn’t really have any reason not to wear it,” Arthur explains, “since everyone knows anyway.”

Eames grins, curling his fingers further around Arthur’s neck, burrowing beneath the fabric and resting the tips along the leather and metal beneath.

Again the voyeur in his own home, Dom excuses himself to pick up the kids from school.


End file.
